She can forget I said anything—that’s what I’m gonna tell
her.When I called asking to take
Marquez off her hands, all she could say was how dare I wake her up so
early.But it ain’t ever late enough
to call around her house these days.Baby Girl got it all figured out.She and that no-good boyfriend living together, mocking the Lord with
their sin.Now she having another
little one.It’s supposed to be my
job to tell her about it, but she ain’t trying to hear it.

It’s gonna be a hot one today.I pull off the interstate to Tampa and cross into the wrong
side of Fort Myers.With all the
wealth down here, you’d never believe it if all you saw was colored
town.Boarded up storefronts,
ramshackle houses with beat-up cars parked in the yards—like every ghetto
movie you ever saw, and our young men standing around flashing gang signs and
wasting what God gave them.How’d
Baby Girl end up here?

Marquez comes running out to the car as soon as I pull
up.Her tumbledown shotgun house with
its peeling paint and the yard thick with weeds.A box springs mattress leans against the chain link fence in
the front yard.I get out slow, my
hips creaking.I unfold the walker
and hang a plastic shopping bag with the baby’s shoes in it between the
handles.The doctor says my arthritis
is the aggressive kind; that I’m lucky to still be up and around.The only comfort left to me is driving my
car.Thank the Lord and Lincoln
Continental. She’s a big bossy two-door number with sky blue paint so bright
it shouts.You can’t miss me.

Marquez is squalling like a scalded dog, wanting his
grandpappy.He hotfoots it across the
scorched sidewalk on those little bare feet.Sweat beads on his top lip.“What’s the trouble, little one?Grandpappy’s here.Come to
take you out of this heat.”His
striped t-shirt hangs tight across his belly.“We going to the water park Marquez?Is your grandpappy taking you to the water park?”He’s clapping those baby hands like he
know what I’m saying.“Where’s your
momma, young prince?”

I take it slow as I wrestle that walker over broken chunks of
sidewalk.The breeze cools me some in
my guayabera shirt and sandals, but my trousers are way too heavy for this
heat.I’m just too stubborn to pay
for new ones.Little Marquez scampers
up onto the porch.One step is rotted
away in a gap-toothed grin.I press
up against the screen door and cup my hands over my eyes to see inside.I know better than to just walk in on her
boyfriend.You don’t get as old as me
without knowing things like that.Rashonda is sprawled across the couch asleep.Her titty is peeking out the top of that
threadbare housedress that stretches across her pregnant belly.Baby Girl, I start to say, but I then I’m
coughing like a diesel engine.Thirty
years of Salems won’t let me forget I quit on them.

“Hey, Daddy,” she
says, tucking in that stray titty and waving me in.She plucks an ashtray full of rolling papers off the coffee
table and slides it under the couch like she was clever.

Marquez scrambles up
on the couch by his mother.The
screen door catches on my walker.Rashonda don’t get up to help.A lazy metal fan moves the stale air around just enough to keep a body
sane.

“Hey, Baby Girl, where’s Worthless?”

She waves me off like she’s shooing a fly.“What you doing north of Colonial?”

“You forget already?I’m taking the boy to the water park.”

“Pawk!” says Marquez, clapping his hands.He jumps up off the couch and hops in
place.

“You’re too sick to be out in this heat.”She says.She right about that.

“Who else is going to take him?”

She rubs her belly with one hand.“I’m pregnant.Anyway,
you don’t know how to take care of no baby.”

I untie the plastic bag.“I got Marquez some shoes.”

“He already has shoes.”

“I never see him wearing any.”

She don’t deny it.I
make Marquez sit while I put the white canvas shoes on his dusty little
feet.It’s too hot for socks anyhow.

Rashonda’s watching me out the corner of her eye.“Them’s girl shoes.”

“Marquez don’t know the difference,” I say.“Listen, are them Jehovah Witnesses still
coming around?

She squints.“Are you
talking ‘bout the lady from Early Head Start?The one that takes Marquez to the Y?”

“Whoever.Seem like
everybody else has to raise your boy for you.”

“Daddy, you need to mind your business.And you better get out of here before
Tyrel wakes up, or he’ll throw you out.”

“He can try.”

She peers down the
narrow hall, her mouth open like she’s listening, and then she lights a
cigarette, but she don’t go for the ashtray under the couch.

“You shouldn’t be
smoking with a baby on the way.”

“What’d I tell you?”
she says, but she’s still not looking at me.I lean hard against my walker.I’d have a seat, but I ain’t been invited.Thudding sounds from the back of the house and Rashonda’s jaw
gets tight.Marquez freezes and looks
down the hallway.

“So can I take him to
the water park, or not?”

She screws up her
forehead like she gives a rip what the boy does.“Ain’t it too hot?”She’s still looking down the hall.

“That’s why I come
over here, to get Marquez out of this swelter.We can cool off in the kiddy pool.”

“Go on and take him,
if you want.He underfoot
anyway.”I hear Tyrel grumbling from
the back room, something about where’s his goddamn work boots.Rashonda shouts, “Look in the closet!”

Tyrel shouts back,
“Get up off yo’ fat ass and help me look!”

I can’t help
myself.“What’s he need work boots
for?”

Rashonda shushes me with one long-nailed finger across her
lips.I motion Marquez toward the
door, but he stays frozen in place, staring down the hall.

Tyrel storms out of
the back room wearing nothing but cut-off sweat pants.“What’d you say, cripple?” he demands, his
yellow eyes wide.He’s a strapping
big SOB.If he was a dog, he’d be a
Rottie.Bulging muscles and legs like
tree trunks.A scar twists across his
abdomen like a night crawler.His
eyes burn into mine.Then he turns to
Rashonda.“What the fuck’s he doin’
here?”

“Don’t you talk to
Baby Girl that way!”I draw my twisted
hands up in front of me—they can’t even make proper fists anymore.“I oughtta teach you a lesson.Three-time boxing champ in the Navy.Twenty-two KO’s.How about it?”

Rashonda pulls herself up off the couch with her belly
leading the way.“You all go on to
the park now.”She pulls Marquez by
the elbow toward the door.“GO!”

Tyrel comes toward me.I smack myself in the forehead.“They called me the Hammerhead.Head so damn hard I could break your nose if I was of a mind to.”Rashonda is still talking, but we’re not
listening.

He kicks the walker away from me across the wood floor, wraps
his meaty hands around my neck and pulls me close like he gonna kiss me, his
hot breath in my face.“She ain’t
your baby girl no more.She mine
now.”I glare at him as mean as I
can.He smiles.“You’re just a crazy old man.”He lets go and slaps me on the cheeks with
both hands.

“Tyrel, leave him alone!”Rashonda pushes in between the two of us.Her voice quivers, panicky, but she ain’t the type to cry.She shoos Marquez and me out the door and
onto the porch.“You all go on
now.Ain’t no reason to start
trouble.”

Tyrel laughs from inside the house.“That’s right.Go on
before I bust yo’ crippled ass.”

My heart is pounding.I point through the screen door.“I told you he was no good.He’s gonna hurt you someday.And yo’ babies.”

“You all go on, now.Go on.”Rashonda slings a
diaper bag over my head.

Marquez follows me to the Lincoln.The walker is heavy in my hands, and my knees feel like they
could go out from under me.I told
her that Tyrel was trouble.How many
times did I tell her?Rashonda
talking about how he loves her.I
should’ve taught her better when she was small.Lord knows.

I belt Marquez in as best I can.Baby Girl’s watching us.There’s no expression on her face at all, like what just happened
ain’t nothing new ‘round here.

She says, “They let diapers in the kiddy pool?”

“He can swim in his short pants.We won’t be in the water long.”

She smirks.“I was
talking about you.”I wave her off
and get in.Like I said, my Lincoln
is the only comfort I got in this world, and I’m needing that comfort now.

You know, Rashonda had none of that tone in her voice the day
Marquez was born.I hadn’t seen her
for months, ever since she moved out.She called me up out of the blue one day, blubbering about the pains
was coming every little bit and she didn’t have no insurance and could I
please take her to the free clinic, could I please?I done told you she wasn’t one for crying, so this was
big.I ran every red light on the way
to her house.She stood on the porch
with her little bag and a look of relief on her face.That Tyrel lay in the yard passed out with
puke all down his shirt front.Baby
Girl and I made a sad pair as we limped out to the car, clasped around each
other’s middle with one arm and gripping that walker with the other.

The nurse took one look at this pregnant teenage girl and
then at me, and she rolled her eyes real big.“I know he ain’t this baby’s daddy.You paying the piper today, ain’t you little girl?”She snatched Rashonda by the elbow and
walked her into the place like she was showing off a prize poodle.

Marquez didn’t come till the next morning, so I spent those
twenty hours with my daughter shuffling up and down the halls with her
learning hard on my shoulder for support, us stopping every ten minutes when
the pains come, then every five, then every two.When they finally decided to give her the epidural, it was too
late; my grandbaby was on his way, and there wasn’t no stoppin’ him.Rashonda gripped my hand and hollered and
cried, looking only at me, the only face she knew, begging me not to leave
her, not to ever leave her.And I
didn’t.And I won’t.

Baby Boy runs his hands over the Lincoln’s leather
seats.You can tell he ain’t ever
been in no hot rod before.The AC
blasts through our sweaty hair.Marquez looks out the window with his mouth open, his lips pooched out
like he’s blowing kisses.I can’t
help rubbing his little head.He
curls his hand around my wrist.“Paw-Paw!”

“That’s right, Baby Boy.Your Paw-Paw is fixing you up with a trip to the water park.”

“Pawk,” he says.

“I bet that daddy of yours never took you to no water
park.He’s lucky I didn’t drop the
Hammerhead on him.”

“Daddy!”He smiles as
he arches his back and tries to look over the dash.

“You’re right.I
guess he is your daddy.”I rub his
head again, seeing the difference between my rough old hands and his smooth
baby skin.“He is your daddy, isn’t
he?”

Now, it’s entirely beyond me how that Baby Girl of mine got
her life so messed up.Naturally, her
momma leaving us shook her up some, but Rashonda and me had five good years
before she took up with that good-for-nothing.Now look at her.She
don’t even know the potential she has.Pregnant again and living with that crazy man, she may never find out.If she’d only let me help her.I can’t help unless I’m asked.I look over at Marquez.“Young Prince, I hope you listen to your
old Grandpappy.”He’s pulling at the
seatbelt.He don’t know what I’m
talking about.

The water park emerges from behind a billboard.I park behind a wooden building in the
shade of the overpass.Passing cars
roar and clatter along the highway above us.

I shove the heavy door open and swing my legs over, grunting
as I stand up.The car is full in the
shade in this spot, but it’s already getting hot in there.I help Marquez out of the car.I can’t hold his hand and use my walker
too, so I shout at him to stay close.He stops once to point at a distant water slide, a blue tube
stretching and twisting up into the sky.I say, “Keep up, Baby Boy.”He
hops excitedly, like he might run across the parking lot and leave me
shuffling along after him.

A bored-looking white girl sits in the ticket booth smacking
her gum.She’ll be glad to see
us.A cripple and a toddler.Discounts all around.But it still costs eight dollars.We don’t care how much it costs, do we,
Marquez?Eight dollars is a bargain
for a day out with my best boy.Marquez darts behind the counter.He pulls a mop out of its bucket like his grandpappy used to do on
those ships in the Navy.Murky water
slops out everywhere.“Marquez, come
here boy.”My tone is sharp, and he starts
slowly back, watching me good to see what I might do to him.His new shoes are stained a gritty
black.

The girl stops smacking her gum.“Can you control him in the park?”

“We’ll be OK, young miss.” I say politely, like I didn’t hear
that snap in her voice.“Come on
boy.”

We head for the lockers.Herding toddlers around is just like playing pinball, ‘cept you don’t
need no flippers to get them started.

Marquez kicks his legs while I pull off his shirt and
shorts.He’s got on one of those
throwaway diapers, and it’s fuller than I’m pretty sure it’s supposed to
be.I rub the dried boo-boo off of
him with wet paper towels, and pull his shorts back over his naked little
bottom.Baby Girl talkin’ ‘bout I
need diapers too.I may be stove up,
but I can still hold my water. The day old Hammerhead needs a diaper…well, I
just don’t know.I pull off my
trousers and sandals.My guayabera
shirt stays on—I don’t want to take too much sun.Wearing them shirts, the people down here always think I’m from
Cuba or Haiti or somewhere.Talking
to me in Spanish or Creole, even strangers on the street.I’m from Buffalo, I tell them.The shirts are to keep me cool, like I’m
lying in sherbet.I pull on some
cut-off sweat pants and a pair of flip-flops, and I’m ready.

We’ve nearly got the place to ourselves.Marquez is too small to get on most of the
good stuff yet, but I ain’t trying to take my only grandbaby to no free
public pool.All that urine and sweat
from them hundreds of little poor kids in there.Grandpappy got eight dollars, so we coming here.Marquez wades right in like he comes here
every day.

That Gulf Coast sun
is sliding across the sky like a pat of butter on a frying pan.It’s the reason Baby Girl and me got out
of Buffalo when I left the factory, tired of all them blustery gray days up
north.This sun warms the bodies of
us old men, till the day that nothing warms them no more.

Marquez jumps and giggles, sloshing around like he in a
rainstorm.The blue cotton of his
shorts goes black.My walker’s so
grimy I’m ashamed to take it in the pool, so I shuffle along the bottom in my
flip-flops, holding onto the side.Marquez sees some big kids over in the deep part of the pool, and he
lunges towards them, shouting and splashing, and my heart nearly stops, but a
gull picking at French fries gets his attention, and he turns back from the
drop-off just in time.In spite of
the little scare, we keep playing, splashing, laughing, pointing at airplanes
and birds and whatever else catches our eye.Just my baby boy and me.

He gets fussy after a
good long while, so we climb out of the pool and shuffle towards the shade of
lounge chairs set up under canvas umbrellas.Sit down next to a white woman about my age, a plump lady wearing gold
hoop earrings and rings on all ten fingers.She has on dark sunglasses and one of them floppy straw hats that nice
ladies wear in the garden.I get some
crackers out of the duffel bag that I packed for Marquez.He eats them like he’s in a hurry.Then he lays his head down on my shoulder,
sweet as sugar.

The woman pulls up
the brim of her hat, smiles.“Goodness,” she says, “He’s adorable.”

“Why thank you.He’s my daughter’s baby.”

She takes off her sunglasses, and her eyes smile.Prob’ly thinking I look too damn good to
have a grandson.Crow’s feet feather
out from the corners of her eyes, and her face is tanned deep, tan on top of
tan.

“He never knew
her.”I say, knowing good and well
this lady don’t want to hear it.

“I’m sorry, is she deceased?”

“She left me a long time ago, back when I was still
drinking.”

The lady smiles her tight-wrinkled smile, and coughs like
something is tickling her throat.She
don’t know what to say.

I smile.“He still
sees his old Grandpappy though.”

“That’s the important
thing.Kids need their elders.Those are my grandchildren over
there.”A boy and girl maybe ten
years old are splashing around in one of the bigger pools.“They’re visiting from Oklahoma.”

“They’re fine
children.” I say.

“Their mother doesn’t bring them down very
often anymore.”

I stroke Marquez’s
damp hair.“You just got to love them
all you can while you got ‘em here with you…teach them and love them.”She nods.We’re just a couple of old people watching children play on a hot
summer’s day.

Marquez wakes
up.His head leaves a wet spot on the
shoulder of my shirt.He watches the
lady with wary interest.She fawns
over him a while, then her daughter comes by with the kids, and she says
goodbye and goes off with her family.I gather up the walker and Marquez’s diaper bag, and we head for the
locker room.

Back in our street clothes, we make our way across the
parking lot.It’s gotten even hotter,
and I’m wishing now I had parked closer.The legs of my walker stick in the gummy pavement with each step.Marquez shuffles along behind me, the walk
of tired little boys.The Lincoln is
in full sun now.The overpass roars
just over our heads.I can’t hear a thing.I unlock the passenger side door, and a
blast of superheated air hits me as I swing it open.It feels like looking into the top of a
volcano.Marquez’s shorts are still
damp, so I put my towel under him and fasten him in, careful not to let his
little legs touch the hot metal buckle.The keys jangle in my hand.“I’ll get that AC going, and we’ll be in business, little one.”

I go to close the heavy door, trying to scoot the walker out
of the way as I do, but it sticks in the gummy pavement, and starts to tip
over.With a sick feeling in my
stomach.I spin with the door, the
walker going out from under me.The
door slams shut.It feels like
getting sucker punched.Everything
whirls around me.My keys go flying.I hit the ground hard on my hip, a sickly
cracking sound, and I don’t need no doctor to tell me I broke it.

The pain knocks the
wind out of me.A bolt of searing pain pierces my pelvis as
I try to roll over.I can’t breathe
to holler, and with the cars whizzing by on the overpass, nobody would hear
me anyway.I can’t see Marquez over
the door.I knew I should have turned
on the AC before I put him in.Jesus,
Lord, what was I thinking?The
pavement blisters my back through my shirt.I could lay here all day before anyone came by, but my grandbaby
hasn’t got all day, not in this heat.The pain is a searing ache deep in my groin, just bearable so long as
I don’t move an inch.I strain to
reach the door handle, my hand trembling so hard I can’t get a grip.The handle slips up and down in my sweaty
fingers.It’s locked up tight.I can’t see my keys anywhere.They must have gone through the chain link
fence and I couldn’t reach them now even if I had two good legs.I lie there frozen by pain and fear.Marquez’s little hand presses flat against
the window.Darkness seeps across my
mind, threatening to take me away with it.But I ain’t going anywhere until I give that baby a fighting chance.

My walker is on its side.I grip it with white knuckles and pull
myself to a sitting position.My hip
twists with the effort, bone on bone.I’m trembling.My hands are
slick with sweat, my leg numb all the way down.I can’t breathe, and I know I’ve only got a moment.With a lion’s roar, I curl my fingers
around the windowsill and pull myself upright on my good leg.Marquez is looking at me.He’s awash in sweat.His mouth is open, sucking at the air.He’s too intent on breathing to cry.I smile at him.Fear not, Baby Boy.Grandpappy’s here.Hammerhead
to the rescue.I center my forehead
on the window as darkness falls over my vision, then I draw back.I’m going to give it all I’ve got.

**

James D. Wright’s
works have appeared in print in Mikrokosmos and Heist Magazine,
and in several online publications, including Pindeldyboz, flashquake,
and Elbow